Descent
by Soo W
Summary: Kate's back and needs Angel's help to solve a series of murders when the victims all seem to be looking for him. A Kate/Angel/shanshu story.
1. Default Chapter

Descent - 1/16 

Descent - 1/16 

Galway, 1750

A drunken shout went up. Momentarily distracted, she imagined all eyes were on her, and the shadow of the shame she should have felt threatened to spoil her fun. 

Clara opened her eyes, craned her neck and saw a table fallen on its side, and several men pinned underneath. She could see the underside of the table (clean and matt compared to the slick grime on top) and the men's legs waving helplessly. Those in the tavern that were capable of standing ambled over to help lift it, or stand by and give their view of how it could be lifted, or explain why it was best it shouldn't ever be lifted, given the profanity of those trapped and how they deserved no better.

But there was no shame. Instead, she felt a heady mixture of euphoric emotions: excitement from the chase, lust possessing her like a demon; joy at the prospect of sexual fulfilment, burning pride that of all the girls in the room that night, he had chosen her, a barmaid with no money and no connections, with hardly any decent clothes to speak of, as his companion. 

No-one was paying her any mind, so she closed her eyes again, and let him sink his nose into her ruddy hair, kiss her neck, tug at her clothing with his gentleman's hands and press her so close against the wall, that his body, being made of harder stuff, made an imprint in her own softer flesh.

Since first laying her eyes upon him, she knew she wanted this. Clara had no illusions about what sort of a man he was; his reputation was legendary in Galway. But there was something about him. The way he moved, like he hadn't a care in the world. The particular tilt of his smile, that brought blood to her cheeks. The exuberance of his spirits, that dragged her from her worries and convinced her that life must hold some joy, somewhere, if he was in it.

Life certainly held none for her, not 'til now. She'd been raised by the parish in London after being abandoned by her mother. The parish didn't feel the necessity of educating her, but thought it highly desirable she should work and minimise the expense they incurred providing for her food and clothing. Then, when she was still young enough to be at school, the parish found the limit of its generosity and cast her out to the world. 

She rapidly settled with the first man who showed her the affection she craved. He was Irish, and she loved the way he talked, his yarns and his teasing humour. She compared them to her own silence, lack of experience and serious timidity, and was star-struck. When he went back to Galway, she went with him. 

She was captivated, but she wasn't stupid, and she soon saw that in his own land he was a different creature. It was the difference between meeting someone after church and visiting them, unannounced, at home. What seemed precious on the streets of London was commonplace here. Moreover, she saw older versions of him in taverns everywhere, and didn't like her prospects. When he died in a brawl a year later, she was almost relieved. But she was also stranded - she had no money for a passage home. Without him, she felt like a stranger in a strange country. Working for that journey became her only concern. 

Until she first saw Liam, and was star-struck again.

A laugh bubbled out of her as she was pulled after him out of the tavern's back door. She gave a last look back at the drunken mob that made her life a misery six nights out of seven. To hell with the lot of them.

Tonight, she would have some fun. Tomorrow would never come.

Los Angeles, 2001

A file slapped onto Angel's desk, breaking into his reverie. He raised his head slowly, expecting to see Cordy, Wesley or Gunn standing over him. Instead he found a slim, denimed thigh perched on his desk. His eyes travelled up the slate grey jacket, over the first wisps of bleached blond hair, to a face he never expected to see again.

"Angel."

"Kate... how are you?"

"I'm getting by."

"What are you... are you back in LA?"

"For the time being."

Angel looked at the file. It was made of plain buff card, with a serial number stamped in deep red ink on the top, right hand corner. A circular stain marked the spot where a coffee mug had been carelessly placed. It looked like it had come straight from a police station. 

"You're back on the force?"

She pushed the file a little further under his nose. "Thought this might interest you." 

Angel tried not to let out a weary sigh. It was Friday night. The past week had been rough; more than the usual complement of demons, vampires and assorted lowlifes had rolled up at their door, attacked them in the street or been sought in their hiding places and successfully vanquished. He quickly recovered from the bodily pain, but mentally, he was sorely in need of a day of peace and reflection. As for his team... they and their bruises had disappeared hours ago.

He flipped open the file. It was stuffed with images. An assortment of irregularly sized photographs, some clearly taken by LAPD photographers, some no more than snapshots, some torn from newspapers. 

"The trouble with pictures," he reflected wryly to himself, "is if you get enough of them, they always tell a story."

This particular collection told a story he didn't particularly want to know, expressed haltingly, in reverse. The insides of a taxicab, covered in dark stains. Close-ups of the upholstery revealing splattered blood.

"Machine-gun fire?"

"Possibly. There isn't... I haven't seen the ballistics report."

A monochrome image of a crumpled body, clothes and skin bathed in black. Pathologist's photographs, including close-ups of wounds torn into flesh (a helpful ruler, held by a latex-gloved hand, fixed their dimensions), and a death-mask, the pale face of a young man in his twenties, brown hair, a solid jaw, regular features dominated by a large brow. 

"Who is he?"

"I don't know yet."

The last of the bunch looked like a snap taken on holiday. It showed an unidentifiable beach, with blue waters stretching behind. The dead man wore trunks, and looked straight into the lens. His skin was a golden tan, his teeth white and regular, and his hair crusted into spikes by the salt and sand. There was no-one else in the shot, but the ease of his posture and the way he smiled made you feel that he knew the person holding the camera. Possibly intimately. Angel felt an irrational pang of jealousy, and pushed the file away.

"So?"

"You missed one."

Kate pushed the images about, and they slithered over each other on his desk. Sunlit sands disappeared under the horror of the murder scene and the sterile grey of the lab. Buried at the heart of the pile was a police photograph of the man's possessions. A wallet. A packet of cigarettes and a disposable lighter. A small electronic device marked "Sony" with tiny, in-ear headphones attached. A passport. A collection of items taken from the wallet, coins, Amex, Visa and assorted business cards, one of them familiar.

"I never did figure out what that was. Did we decide on a lobster?"

Angel gave her a look and she smiled. "Anyways... he was killed last week, just a block away. It looks like he was on his way to see you."


	2. Chapter 2

Descent - 2/16 

Descent - 2/16 

Kate's new apartment seemed purposefully designed to remind her how much she missed the old. 

Where her former home was decorated in warm, natural colours, this was endless, stark white, interrupted by slashes of black and rimmed with steel. The old place was divided into rooms, each a small space meant for a specific purpose; this was uncomfortably open-plan. She would have had wooden bookcases everywhere, filled with dog-eared paperbacks and dusty photographs; this had bare, high-tech glass shelving. Her kitchen had been a hotchpotch of hanging pans, jars of utensils and recipes torn from magazines (never to be tried but optimistically saved anyway); this kitchen was a soulless corner, bright, clean and impractical. A kitchen clearly meant for a resident who ate out a lot. 

In fact the whole place seemed ideally made for someone who was never coming home. The shiny surfaces picked up smudges and fingerprints easily and the lack of patterns meant that every stray hair, every piece of fluff or dust sprang into relief as soon as the morning sun shone.

She dumped her bag (a practical black canvas rucksack) on one of the sofas (also black, soft leather) and made herself a cup of tea in the detested kitchen. As the kettle boiled, she repeated her mantra. She told herself it didn't matter that she hated the apartment. It was just a temporary stay. It was convenient and the rent was low because she was taking it on from a friend on sabbatical abroad. It gave her a base in the city, which otherwise would be beyond her means. Its very ugliness was positive, encouraging her to get out and make a place for herself, a new life.

In her old apartment, she would have sat, hour after hour, wallowing in memories. She realised now (in fact, deep inside she had always known) that the place was a homage to her mother. She'd made it that way, unconsciously. Perhaps that's why her father had visited so infrequently. Perhaps that's why his place resembled a meeting room in a working man's club, no frills, nothing that wasn't plain, serviceable and necessary. (Aside from the small collection of awards and trophies, but those were for bravery outside the domestic sphere.) It was another strange symptom of their rift, the way they'd each dealt with her death in their own separate, entirely different way.

In the new apartment, there were no memories, and no corners where she felt like hiding. She stared ruefully at the sheet of plate glass in front of her. It didn't even have four walls.

Kate closed her eyes, partly to avoid looking at her surroundings and partly to analyse her headache in more minute detail. With each heartbeat a pulse of liquid thumped against her temples painfully, her frontal lobes seemed to cry out in protest and muscles at the back of her neck tensed and only half released. The meeting with Angel had been tough. 

She hated herself for it, but as soon as she saw his face, she remembered.

Now she was away from him, she recalled his tolerance and eagerness to help when they'd first met. His clumsy but heartfelt attempts to sympathise when her father lay dead on the carpet. His forgiveness of her hatred, so undeserved and unexpected, and her failure to apologise or sufficiently acknowledge him for anything he'd done.

Most of all, she remembered being held up under jets of warm water, a frantic voice begging her to live, a physical presence trying to put the life back into her by force and simply refusing to accept her death. 

She gave him credit for his guile in saving her from the demons in the museum.

But in his company, all those memories were ruthlessly swept away by one other. The fact that he'd overpowered her once; bitten her, sunk his teeth into her neck and taken her blood. 

If she thought about it, she could still feel a separate and distinct pain in her throat, like a rheumatism, a wasting of the flesh. She wouldn't touch that skin with her fingers now, because she didn't want to feel the daisy-chain of scar-tissue that remained. Stupid, because she knew at heart that neither the pain or the scar were important, in themselves. Nor was it helpful that he'd done it to save her from something worse. The point was, for a moment, she'd been powerless. She'd really understood for the first time, how dangerous he was. 

How ironic that, even as he was trying to save her life, he demonstrated how easy it would be for him to extinguish it, if he so desired.

She tried not to think about that. 

Sometimes, she failed, and lay awake, wondering why she was alive, after everything she'd said, everything she'd done and tried to do to him. For a long time, she'd simply wanted him dead. 

Kate settled her mug on the edge of a sheet of greenish glass claiming to be a coffee table, and took up the TV remote (at least in this apartment there was no chance of *that* getting lost). She flicked from channel to channel, looking for the local news. Eventually, an item about a murder in Sun Valley caught her eye. It was depressingly low on detail, but the anchorman and a perky roving reporter managed to make a handful of bare facts and a tight-lipped interview with a police spokesperson stretch over ten minutes of airtime.

The victim was a young Australian woman, Shawna Copeland. Embassy officials had been involved in notifying Ms Copeland's parents and there was no statement from either them or the embassy yet. Ms Copeland was not a resident of LA and police were working on the assumption that she was on vacation, and that this was a random killing, most probably a robbery gone badly wrong. Kate stared longingly into the flickering images, her mouth slightly open, as the reporter stood as close as possible to the fluttering, yellow police tape.

She was distracted by the brittle noise of her mobile phone, trilling to her from the rucksack. Wiping a drop of saliva from her bottom lip, she scurried over to the noise and pressed the button to take the call.

"Kate Lockley... Yes Ma'am, I do... Yes I can... All right then, tomorrow at nine sharp... I'll be there."

She was about to snap the phone shut, when a large sheet of violent pink paper, affixed to the plate glass window with sticky-tape, caught her eye. As the line went dead, she added hurriedly: "Thanks for your call."

The paper was blank, apart from a short phrase, scrawled in black marker pen. The same phrase was repeated on the fridge draw and on a sticky label affixed to her phone.

"Remember to say - THANK-YOU"

She took a deep breath, and dialled the Hyperion.


	3. Chapter 3

Descent - 3/16 

Descent - 3/16 

The bar was suitably crowded, almost too crowded, and it was several minutes before she identified two seats. Bagging one with her coat and planting a knee firmly on the other, she craned to find Angel, and saw he'd just found a table on the other side of the room. After a bit of competitive gesturing, she abandoned her prizes and went to join him.

The table was close to a window.

"Are you sure this will be OK?"

"Fine... it's dusk. I'm happy sitting anywhere, it's just..."

"I know, I know, you just don't do lunch."

"It's the daylight thing."

"I didn't think." She smiled at him. "Sorry. Anyway, it's just as well we put it off. I've found out a bit more about our friend since lunchtime. I can kill two birds with one stone."

Angel raised his eyebrows, "Two birds?"

"His name is Eddie Brown. He's South African, wealthy family, here on an extended vacation."

"Just travelling?"

"No, he's a genealogy enthusiast. He's here to find his roots."

He sighed, "Doesn't explain why he wanted to speak to me."

"You don't recognise the name?"

"No."

Kate sat back in her chair and pursed her lips in thought, "What about the family history thing. Is that the kind of work you do?"

He shrugged, "Ask Cordelia. We haven't done any in the past, for sure."

"That might not be significant. He might have found you on the Web. Or in Yellow Pages."

Angel looked blank. "I don't think we're in.

"Well, how do people usually find you?"

"Word of mouth..."

"Right..."

"Plus we have a psychic link to higher powers."

Kate smiled, "That must be so handy. Better than a thousand small ads."

"Hey, you have those police databanks. We're even."

Nervous, she looked down at the drink in front of her. She didn't remember ordering it. This was the perfect opening. Kate took a deep breath. "Actually, Angel... that was the other thing..."

He carried on, "If you were tracing your family tree, why would you want a private investigator anyway? Isn't the fun thing to do it all yourself?"

She gave up. "You'd think so. But then that leaves us back at square one. We don't have a connection."

"Maybe he wasn't even coming to see me. I mean, a card in a wallet; it's pretty thin."

"True. Or he was coming to see you about something else."

There was a pause. Previously unnoticed, the bar's background noise flooded into the gap, until his voice broke the silence, tentative, soft and caring.

"You look different."

Kate's head jerked up and she found him watching her. Something about the timbre of his voice, something she hadn't heard since that day he came into her apartment uninvited, made it harder for her to breathe, as if her body were still there, fighting for air. From nowhere, arousal flooded through her like a shot of tequila. She swallowed, and tried to make light of an answer. "I do? How?"

"I don't know. Wary. Unsettled. What made you decide to come back?"

She shrugged, and allowed her eyes to fall away from his. "I needed to fight back. This is where the demons are."

"Demons are everywhere, Kate."

"Not those kind of demons."

"Oh..." He picked up a napkin and started to tear it to shreds. "Then, am I one of the things you have to fight?"

She gulped. "Maybe."

"Because, I was hoping, if we're going to be in the same town again, things could be different, we could be..."

"Different?"

...helpful to each other."

Fear iced its way up her spine. She fought it down fiercely. (Fear of what, for heaven's sake? Do you think he's going to bite you in the middle of a bar, in happy hour?) She stammered, "Aren't I being helpful right now?"

His mouth dropped open. "Yeah. I guess. As helpful as you can be given you're interviewing me in your capacity as investigating officer in a murder case where I'm a suspect."

"Oh... I see what you mean."

Another pause. He bit his lip and looked away, clearly angered.

"Actually Angel, that's not why I'm here." She chuckled. "You know, I've just been on a business course, for beginners. They told me my biggest problem was my manner in dealing with people. I didn't believe them so they did that thing where they record you having a conversation and play it back." She drew a pattern in the condensation on her glass. "I think the word they used was 'unfortunate'. I've spent too many years on the force I suppose. I sometimes say the right things but even when I do it sounds like I'm barking orders."

"Why *are* you here?"

"Not to interview you. I'm not the investigating officer. Christ, I wish..."

"I don't understand."

"I'm not a police officer at all."

"What?"

"Not any more. The door wasn't left open for me, Angel. In fact, the door was pretty firmly shut."

He shook his head as if to try and clear water from his ears. "Then, what..."

She stood and collected her bag and coat from the back of the chair. "I'm a PI. Like you."

Leaving him with his mouth hanging open, she skirted round the table, with the intention of leaving it at that, then thought of something and turned back. She fished a business card out of her pocket and put it on the table in front of him. 

"There's just one difference between me and you." She waited until he turned to look at her, before lowering her voice to whisper, "I have a licence."


	4. Chapter 4

Descent - 4/16 

Descent - 4/16 

Galway, 1751

"Stop!"

Lady Russell spoke sharply to the coachman, who reigned in his horses, bringing the carriage lurching to a halt. She leaned out of the open window and called to the young man loitering there on the side of the road.

"Pardon me, Sir, but is this the Galway road?"

"Madam!" the coachman protested, but she gave him a stern look and turned back to the youth.

"My coachman has been lost for the last hour, though he won't admit it. For the love of God, tell me where we are?"

"I will..." said the young man (for young man he was, now that she got a proper look at his face) "...if you tell me your business here."

The coachman almost bounced out of his seat, "Madam, I hardly think..."

The man approached the window, and she shrank back slightly. Her coachman fumbled with the bundle at his feet, trying to lay his hand on the pistol. But the stranger didn't try anything, merely removed his hat and made a slight bow. "After all, you might be robbers."

Lady Russell's mouth dropped open, and then she saw the glitter in his eye and threw her head back in laughter. 

"Your caution is very reasonable." she began, when her mirth had died away, "We must indeed look a desperate party. Very reasonable, not to say commendable, in one so young. I'm visiting a house in the neighbourhood. The Great Hall - do you know it?"

He took a step forward and placed a boot on the foot plate. "Know it? My Lady, I could take you blindfold."

"Could you, though?" she drew forward again and appraised his figure, in the easy manner of one who has enough wealth and title to dispense with the usual formalities, if it pleases.

"Any time your Ladyship desires it."

"Do you know The Hall, Mr...?"

"Liam, your Ladyship, call me Liam. I do know The Hall. The beds are very comfortable."

"I'm pleased to hear it. And these comfortable beds - how do we find them?"

His eyes travelled over her dress, with an easy insolence. "Give me the word, my Lady. I'm always at your service."

She bit her lip to avoid smiling again. Really, he was too fresh for a local lad. There was no need to encourage it. "You misinterpret me, Liam. I desire to be directed to The Hall, so that my coachman can drive me there. I'm in a hurry." 

"Are ye desperate, then?"

"Only to arrive at my journey's end. I've travelled many a long mile." She gave the coachman a look. "Some of them twice."

He stepped down. "Then I'd turn right at the next gate. And may your Ladyship have a pleasant ride."

"You see me, Liam. I'm in a carriage. Not riding."

"Not yet, your Ladyship. But there's fine stables at The Hall. Many good rides to be had."

"Ah, then you know something about horses?"

"Horses? No, your Ladyship, nothing at all. I know a lot about stables."

There was clearly no way she could win with dignity against someone who knew no limits with innuendo. Certainly, not in front of a servant, anyway. "Peters?"

"Madam?"

"Drive on."

As she sat back in the gloom, her china-blue eyes met the identical pair that danced on the mirror opposite. She tucked a blond curl into her hat, and made a mental note to take advantage of her new brother-in-law's stables, whenever she could get away from the newlyweds. Perhaps this visit would not be so dull, after all.

Los Angeles, 2001

"Angel Investigations! We help the..."

"Is he there?"

"Kate? Hold on, I'll check."

In his office, Angel picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Angel, Kate's on the phone. I'm going to put her though, but just remember she's the competition now. Okay? Don't give her any client names."

There was a click and then silence.

"Kate?"

"Angel? Get yourself out."

"What?"

"Get out of there, right now. Don't worry about the others, they're perfectly safe. Go to my apartment. I'll meet you there. Don't tell anyone where you've gone. No-one, not even Cordelia, you understand?"

The line went dead. Angel held the receiver to his chest for a few moments, then dropped it back into its cradle and rushed into the lobby, grabbing his coat on the way.

"How's Lockley PI?" Cordy said, as he went past. "In trouble already?"

"Seems so. She wants me to meet her. She says there's no danger, but we're not to tell anyone where I've gone and why, no matter what they say."

Cordy saluted, army-style. "Death before dishonour!"

"It's a bit late for me, on both counts." Angel smiled. "Wesley's coming back, right?"

Cordy nodded. 

"OK, then I'll go. I'll call you later."

"If it takes more than twenty minutes," Cordy yelled after him, "tell her we'll be sending an invoice!"

The building was quiet, and the concierge was standing in the street outside, lighting up a cigarette. Angel slipped past him and climbed the stairs to Kate's apartment two at a time. He rapped sharply on her door.

It swung open. The interior was dark, and Kate stood in the doorway. The gentle smile she wore when she left the bar earlier was gone, and her face was marked with the old suspicions and the troubled loathing she'd never tried to hide. She was dressed in a sweatsuit and trainers; either she'd planned a lazy evening in or was just about to run. Maybe she was planning to run from him, again.

"Can I come in?"

"Did you do it?"

"Depends what you mean by 'it'." He took a step towards her, but stopped before he reached the threshold. He was almost certainly excluded even now; there had never been an invitation. But he didn't want to test it. If she knew for certain he could come in, she might take flight. "What's happened, Kate?"

She backed away from him, and seemed deliberately to take a stand, just barely beyond his reach. 

"Just tell me, what am I supposed to have done?"

"There's been another murder. A young woman. Shawna Copeland. I just found out the details... it was identical to Eddie Brown. Same weapon, same MO."

His face remained passive; he challenged her silently to find any guilt written there.

"She was a tourist too. Australian."

"I don't know anything about this, Kate."

"She asked the receptionist at her hotel to place a call to The Hyperion on the day she was killed. It wasn't picked up."

"Our answerphone is kaput, it has been for days. I've no idea who she is. To my knowledge, I've never met anyone of that name."

"She was carrying a picture of you in her handbag."

In frustration, Angel aimed a blow at the invisible barrier that kept him out, only to find it wasn't there and his arm flew through the doorway. He managed to snatch it back before it hit her, and she didn't move, didn't even visibly flinch. She wasn't surprised. Possibilities raced through his head, one by one discounted, until, having ruled out the impossible, he was left with only one, improbable, explanation.

"You don't live here anymore?"

She shook her head. "No. I moved out a while ago."

Kate waited for him to enter, and, finding Angel had no intention of doing so without her permission, waved him in. As she closed the door behind him, he caught a sheen of tears on her face, reflecting the light from the hallway. He stepped cautiously towards her, and awkwardly circled her with his arms. 

"You don't believe I did this."

She didn't answer but allowed her head to fall forward and rest on his sweater. Just for a second.

"Kate, you wouldn't have got me out of there if you did. They're coming to arrest me, aren't they?"

She nodded, and wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Her eyes were raw and swimming with new tears. Angel sensed she was frightened and relieved in about equal measure, but, somehow, she trusted him. He pulled away to a less threatening distance while Kate explained, "They've got enough evidence to bring you in now. I overheard them talking about it in a bar, one of the bars that police use, in my old patch. I was meeting a friend there. They were going to arrest you tonight. I thought... well, I thought..."

"You thought?"

"You could stay here. Until we figure it out. Until the real murderer is found. I don't have a tenant at the moment. No-one will think of looking here for you."

"Katie..." After the surprise of finding her on his side subsided, gratitude welled up in him, and he instinctively cupped her damp cheek in one hand and kissed her forehead. It was a mistake. She pulled away.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." He gave up trying to formulate an explanation; he didn't know what he meant and anything he said was only likely to make matters more tense. Changing the subject, he asked, "So, do you have a plan for clearing my name?

"As a matter of fact, I do." She moved towards the door. "Best if you don't know anything about it. Make yourself at home. Don't call the hotel... the police will be there by now. And I wouldn't go out. They know what you look like and any patrol car can pick you up."

He nodded, and she gave him a small, encouraging smile. "I'll call you."

The door closed behind her, and Angel curled up on her sofa, listened to the faint gurgle of the plumbing, and watched car headlights fan across the dark ceiling, until sleep claimed him.


	5. Chapter 5

Descent - 5/16 

Descent - 5/16 

An hour later, Kate approached LAPD station 3/10 with a confident stride. Her uniform was slightly out of date and had required major brushing but it still fitted like a glove. It was the right colour, that was the important thing. The cap was obviously wrong and she'd left it behind, but she could easily say it had been stolen that evening, if anyone asked. Kids were always collecting them as trophies.

As she expected, the building was swarming with extra personnel. She recognised a few faces from her days in the force, and gave them a wide berth. Thank the Lord she'd thought to tie her hair back. It was lighter than it had ever been when she was a detective, but even so, it was still the one thing most likely to get her noticed.

"Are you ready for this?"

Gunn gave her a nervous look. "All I have to do is sit there and deny everything, right?"

Kate nodded. 

"Not a problem. Just so long as I don't end up in jail unless it's strictly necessary. Been there, done that, if you know what I'm saying."

"It'll be OK," she reassured him. "I know the drill. I'll get you out of there."

It was almost midnight and she knew the station would be packed with drunks and drug-dealers. On the right, past the main desk, one rookie guarded the door to the Eddie Brown/Shawna Copeland incident room. They'd lucked out. She lead Gunn in and cuffed him to the desk. The officer in charge of checking in prisoners was busy taking exotic false names from a group of alleged prostitutes.

Kate turned her attention to the rookie. "Hi!"

He gave her the briefest of looks and turned his attention to her captive. "What's this?"

"One of the mob from the hotel? Detective Haines wanted them all brought in."

The rookie glanced through the glass window of the door behind him to make sure no-one was about to emerge, and strolled over to her. "He's giving a press briefing, right now on the front steps. I'll tell you what the sergeant will say - he'll have to go over to 3/11, there's no room in the cells."

Kate shook her head. "No way, officer. I've got orders to bring him here. The detective needs to speak to him yesterday." She lowered her voice conspiratorially, "You know what they're like if they don't get it to the letter."

The rookie nodded sympathetically. "You won't get anywhere with the sergeant. If the cells are overcrowded and anything happens, it's his funeral. Why don't I watch him while you check with one of the detectives inside. Maybe they can sneak him in with the girls for a while."

Kate nodded and the rookie waved her through to the incident room.

It wasn't her station, but all incident rooms worked in the same way. A row of officers manned the telephones. A small area was set aside for the detectives to meet and argue strategy and exchange information. A large whiteboard and an even larger pinboard contained major details of the case to date. She could see photographs - a familiar one of Eddie Brown, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Shawna Copeland, and a slightly fuzzy, full length shot of Angel, presumably a blow-up of the one found in Shawna's bag. Behind the pinboard several filing cabinets stood ready to take the records and paperwork created by a major police hunt.

A television perched close to the ceiling in one corner of the room showed the officer in charge of the combined investigation speaking to the press. Kate knew he would have been brought in over the heads of the detectives he now lead and in consequence, nothing would be more important than watching their new boss's performance. Sure enough, they were standing underneath the television, with their backs to the door. She took a deep breath; there would never be a better time. She picked up a blank sheet of paper from an unoccupied desk and strode as confidently as she could towards the filing cabinets.

There was already a space for Shawna. When opened it revealed ten hanging files. The first three were photographic evidence and forensic reports. The fourth and fifth were empty. The sixth and seventh contained written reports, mainly from the Sun Valley investigation, sent on when the case was transferred. The remaining three files were transcripts of information received by phone from members of the public. Witness statements were absent, they probably normally occupied the empty files. They may have been somewhere in the room but there was no way of getting to know without creating a disturbance.

Kate pulled out the sixth file and leafed through it. On the television, she could hear the officer come to the end of his statement and ask for questions.

"Detective Haines, can you confirm that you have a suspect already?" 

She didn't have much time. At this stage in the investigation, she knew the detective would allow three questions, maybe four, no more. She skimmed the reports methodically. Most were routine, but in the middle of the bunch, there was a summary of a phone conversation with the victim's parents. 

"I asked Mrs Copeland why her daughter would have come to Los Angeles when her original plan was to leave Detroit and fly directly to San Francisco. She advised that her daughter's itinerary was always flexible, and that her research in Detroit had indicated that a visit to LA might be more profitable. Mrs Copeland confirmed that while in the city her daughter had certainly done some shopping, as she was due to fly home within two weeks."

Kate skimmed further down, trying to catch the main points in the long and detailed description of Shawna Copeland's last few weeks of life. If Angel's involvement in the murders was incidental, there must be evidence of something else linking Shawna and Eddie. She had to find it, whatever it was.

"The existence of a printout of an email from the company in the victim's belongings is certainly confirmation of this ..." 

"Detective, is it the case that you have specific evidence linking these two brutal murders?"

Kate groaned inwardly, knowing the detective would refuse to be drawn on the evidence at this stage, and that she was going to run out of time rapidly unless anyone could think of a better question. She raced on through the report. 

"... and given that we also have corroborating evidence of the victim's ongoing research into her family history from the family and various sources in Detroit it would seem likely that this was indeed her reason for coming to LA."

There it was. It had to be the link. Why hadn't it been investigated? Kate looked round and saw that the press conference was drawing to a close. She dumped the file back in its place and came round the pinboard, keeping one eye on the cluster of personnel under the television. In the bottom right hand corner, there was a photocopy of a printed email, with at least ten other fragments of evidence pinned around it, each overlaying it slightly. She would have to remove about 20 pins to get it off the board. 

The press conference was breaking up, and so was the party at the far end of the room. In desperation, Kate started pulling out pins, while reading the email, committing as much as possible to memory in case she was disturbed. Then she put the blank sheet of paper she'd been carrying around in its place and skewered everything in place with three pins. She slipped the email and leftover pins into her pocket.

Taking a deep breath, she turned from the board and quietly made her way past the team of detectives. No-one paid her any attention.

Once outside, she exchanged commiserations with the rookie and tried to look harassed as hauled her prisoner out of the station. When they were clear, she uncuffed Gunn, and flagged down a taxi.

"So, you get anything worth having?"

"Maybe, something." Kate pulled the fragment of evidence from her pocket and read it again. 

"What is it?"

"It's an email sent by a company called 'Familiarity', to the second victim. It seems to confirm they have some results for her and invites her to get in touch when she's in LA."

"So?"

"The first victim was a family history nut too. There has to be a connection."

"This 'Familiarity' crowd, they're to do with family history?"

"According to the police files, yes."

"Gimme." Gunn took the paper and read it through carefully. "I got a friend who has a cousin who's always doin' this stuff. Maybe I'll ask her if she knows the company."

Kate nodded, "That would be a start. I'll take that and show it to Angel. Can you contact Wesley and Cordelia without attracting attention?"

"I'll find a way."

"We need them to research this too. We need to know everything we can find about this company and fast."

Gunn frowned, "Because Angel's in danger?"

Kate shook her head. "Angel's not in any danger. But, I'm worried that this is just the start. We have two bodies already. How do we know whoever did it is finished?"

The taxi dropped her off outside her old apartment, and Kate could tell from the street that there were no lights on. The living room looked directly out onto the main road, and the kitchen and bathroom had views to one side of the block. Everything was dark.

Arriving at the door, she eased her key into the lock and turned the handle by small degrees. Whether she was realistic to expect a SWAT team, she didn't know, but she offered thanks to her father that she'd inherited his habit of lubricating all the hinges with WD40 regularly. She was able to enter the apartment quietly. It was deserted.

She pushed the switch on a small table lamp, and found Angel spread-eagled on the sofa, sleeping peacefully. Settling into her favourite armchair, she watched him until weariness overtook her and she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer.


	6. Chapter 6

Descent - 6/16 

Descent - 6/16 

"Kate..."

Something was stroking her cheek.

"Wake up, Kate, it's almost dawn."

She moved slightly and pain hopped up her spine, from one vertebra to the next, settling in the joint of her neck. 

"Ow..."

Her hands flew instinctively to the site of the discomfort, fingers meeting under her hair, at the base of her skull. When she opened her eyes, Angel was kneeling at her feet, looking concerned. She let her head fall forward slightly, and then slowly brought it up again, simultaneously stretching her back, pushing her pelvis forward and straightening her legs until her body was almost on a line. She had simply been curled in one position for too long, and as she unfurled, her muscles flexed and ached gratefully. 

"You shouldn't have slept in the chair. Why didn't you wake me?"

She sat forward, and a cushion she'd placed behind her head fell to the floor. Catching it with one hand, she left the other in place over the scar. So that he wouldn't notice.

He reached up and firmly drew the hand away.

"I saw. Does it hurt?"

The very directness of his question took her breath away. How long had he been looking at it while she was asleep? She turned her face to one side to avoid seeing him, but this only served to expose the thin beaded line of crumpled, pale tissue to his gaze. A heated flush of mortification and fear spread over her skin. 

She couldn't look at him, so when his cool hands touched her it came as a shock. He smoothed her hair back from her temples, and caressed her face, quenching the inner fires, before placing one hand one her chest to steady her, and running a single finger along the length of the scar. It was as though someone had touched her sexually without an invitation, against her wishes; intrusive, harrowing, prostrating. Then, before she could decide whether to scream or escape, or both, he took his hands away and she found that worse.

"I'm so sorry."

He was at the other end of the room before she knew he'd moved.

"Sorry?"

"For marking you like that... you must hate me."

"I don't hate you. You saved me. Twice. I'm grateful. But..."

"Funny how there's always a 'But'."

"Did you have to... I mean, was it avoidable?"

His back was turned towards her and in the half-light she caught a glimpse of his muscles tensing from some internal struggle. Or perhaps he was stiff too, after his night on the sofa. "Perhaps. It wasn't intentional. I was just... panicking. I thought they were going to kill you."

"Did you get a kick out of drinking my blood?"

He turned and looked at her. "A kick?"

It occurred to Kate that she was still in her chair, still frozen where he'd left her. Immobilised, cowed, the perfect picture of a victim. She willed herself to stand and straighten her clothes, and took a deep breath, before saying, "I mean, we weren't exactly friendly at the time."

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

He came at her again, and she forced herself not to back away. Lifting her hair from where it lay, he studied the scar again without touching it, and whispered. "I won't lie to you. I loved drinking your blood."

Again, she felt herself responding to the tone of her voice, his words resonating inside her. 

"But not because you hated me. Because..."

"What?"

He stepped back slowly, receding from her with each word, until his back rested against the far wall. "Because it's what I'm made for. Not just the blood - the violence of it, the power and the submission. It's a craving."

"Even now? I mean, post-epiphany?"

"Even now. Always. It won't ever go away."

"I suppose I knew that." She sighed. "I've been trained to recognise an addict when I see one."

"Then why are you helping me? Aren't you frightened it will happen again?"

"Yes. I am."

"Then you don't know me well enough for this." He waved his hand at the room. "You shouldn't be falling asleep in the same room as me. Maybe you shouldn't be helping me at all. I should go."

"You won't get far. It's morning." Kate moved across to the windows and closed the blinds. "I also know that you couldn't have committed those murders. Why would you? It's not your style of violence. And... I don't think you're going to do it again. I'm just afraid of it. They're two different things."

She fished the piece of paper from her pocket, and offered it to him. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Angel took the message and read it thoroughly, frowning all the time. Finally, he handed it back, and shook his head.

"It was sent by a company called Familiarity to Shawna Copeland a few days before she arrived in LA - do you recognise the name?"

Another shake of the head.

"I think they're the link. They're something to do with genealogy research."

Both his frown and his silence got deeper.

"I've asked Gunn to get Cordelia and Wesley here this morning. I thought maybe we could use some research muscle." 

No response. "I'm going to take a shower. Are you..."

She was going to say "Are you going to be here when I get out?" He had taken on the look of a suspect about to bolt.

"Angel? Are you OK?"

Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door. She heard Wesley's cautious English tones. "Kate? Angel? It's just us."

Before going to open it, she slapped his arm. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm tough. I'll get over it."


	7. Chapter 7

Descent - 7/16 

Descent - 7/16 

Wesley was standing on the doorstep, with both arms full of books. Kate ushered him in, and Cordy followed sharply on his heels with a large box of donuts and a tray of coffee.

"You're sure you weren't followed?"

Wesley shook his head. "I gave mine the slip in the subway this morning. Cordelia says her's is still asleep in his car. I think we're OK. Gunn's going to keep watch outside just in case."

"Did you get anywhere with the research?"

Cordelia indicated a sheaf of notes tucked amongst the books. "The executive summary is: it looks like a real company. Offices downtown, bright shiny brass plaque. All above board."

"But?"

"Then you realise they lease their premises from a prominent firm of lawyers."

"Wolfram and Hart?"

"The very same." Cordy frowned. "Is Angel here?"

Kate indicated the living room and they all paced in. Cordelia continued her explanation. 

"So we checked, and a company by the name of Capsicum Holdings acquired 51% of Familiarity five weeks ago. After the take-over Familiarity's general manager took early retirement and was replaced by one Lilah Morgan. Turns out that Capsicum is a wholly owed subsidiary of Wolfram & Hart."

The presence of his friends seemed to calm Angel, and he slipped easily into conversation with them as they spread out their research on Kate's dinner table. Amongst the pile of papers was a large file of clippings.

"There's nothing new about the murder in there," Cordy said as Angel took them up. "We've checked. It's mostly background stuff about Eddie and Shawna."

"What about the murderers?" Kate paced the room. "If Wolfram & Hart are really behind this, they must be hired, or..."

"They could be using their own." Wesley explained. "We know they execute their own staff with impunity. The question is, why would they want these people dead?"

"So the finger would be pointed at Angel?" Cordy suggested. "They planted the evidence, the photo, the business card, so the police would come and arrest him."

Kate shrugged. "Why?"

"Well, obviously, they want him out of the picture!"

"Then why don't they just stake him?"

Wesley nodded. "It's a fair point Cordelia. If they wanted to get rid of Angel they could. This seems like a very risky and complicated way to go about it. And in any case, we know they want Angel for their own ends. He's part of their long-term plan."

"And," Kate continued, "if the point of all this is to frame him for murder, any old victims would do just fine. They've gone to considerable trouble and expense to make it these two victims. Why? Why Shawna and Eddie?"

All three looked hopefully in Angel's direction. He shook his head. "I don't know. I've racked my brain but I don't know why they would be trying to contact me. I just can't think of anything. They mean nothing to me."

"Yes, they do." Kate took the file of clippings from him. "They must. None of this is random. Wolfram & Hart brought them here. There has to be a reason." She opened the file and started to spread out the pages in front of her. "I think maybe we should forget the murders. We should focus on finding as much as we can about the victims, and finding that reason."

"Pardon me for bringing this up," Cordy drummed her fingers on the table. "But isn't the important thing to stop any more murders?"

Kate looked up. "How do you propose we do that, other than by finding out why the existing victims were chosen?" 

Wesley recognised the signs of conflict and retreated to the sofa with the donuts. The debate continued.

"Well I think we should..." 

"With respect, you don't know anything about detective work..."

"Excuse me, Angel Investigations is..."

"And I've worked on more murder cases..."

"We need to identify the potential victims."

"Cordelia, at the moment, we're completely in the dark. They've brought these people to LA from the edges of the known world. We have a whole planet of potential victims to choose from!"

Cordy was about to retaliate when two small gasps distracted them. Angel was clutching a large centre-spread from one of the broadsheets, and Wesley had dropped his donut on the carpet and was extracting a small volume of notes from his jacket.

"What?" Cordy and Kate asked together.

"I've got it." Wesley flicked through the notebook's closely-written pages. "It's here somewhere. Kate - say what you just said again."

"I said, 'we're completely in the dark'."

"No, no, after that."

Cordy interjected, "She said, 'we have a whole planet of victims'." 

"You said, 'the edges of the known world'. It's a prophecy - I know I have it here - it's..." he turned towards Angel and said quietly "...a shanshu prophecy, actually."

Kate frowned. "What's shanshu?"

Wesley was still looking guiltily at Angel. "I've been collecting them. In a separate notebook. You know, just in case."

"God!" Cordy exclaimed, "I thought that was, you know, your little black book."

Wesley chuckled, "It's a little too well-used for that. I'm sorry Angel, most of the prophecies are so vague they could mean anything. I would have told you if I'd found something concrete."

Angel looked up from his newspaper, vacantly. "What?"

"So this edges-of-the-earth thing," Kate reminded Wesley, "What does it say?"

Wesley placed the book on the table in front of him and the two women crowded round. 

"I'm afraid it says there will be a third victim."


	8. Chapter 8

Descent - 8/16 

Descent - 8/16 

The prophecy was written in Latin.

"Wesley?" Kate nudged him with her elbow. "Help us out here? What does it say?"

Wesley picked up the book and translated smoothly:

from the edges of the known world  
drawn by evil mask'd as right  
three lost souls will come and wait

in the dwelling place of angels  
at the birth of centuries  
blood will out but will not sate

as the prophecy predicts it  
when the time of birth-death comes  
life regained can be his fate 

while eternity is watching  
visions of mortality  
kindred can open the gate 

from the threesome he must take of   
that which he cannot return   
restore life and death abate

"OK, wrong question." said Kate. "What does it mean?"

"First things first." Wesley turned to Angel. The vampire had not moved, and paid no attention to the prophecy. He was clutching the tattered newspaper to his chest. "Are things making any more sense now? Can you tell us any more about the victims?"

Angel spoke heavily, as if slightly drunk. "I think so." He held the crumpled page against him with one hand, as if he didn't want to let it go. His other hand smoothed it out with long strokes, as if it were something precious.

Kate approached him cautiously and stretched out a hand. "Can we see?"

When laid on the table, the page showed the results of Shawna Copeland's hobby. Where the newspaper had gleaned the information wasn't clear, but the writers must have had a good source or vivid imaginations, because they had constructed a family tree going back nearly three centuries.

"Angel? Which is the important part? What do we need to understand?"

Angel was unresponsive. He wandered away from them to slump in the chair Kate had vacated an hour before, and covered his face with his hands.

"What's his deal?" Cordy hissed.

Wesley shook his head at her. "I think he's probably in shock."

"Why?"

"He's just found out about the death of a relative."

"Wesley! Cryptic much?"

Wesley pointed at a particular branch of the tree. "If I'm reading this correctly, Shawna Copeland believed she was descended from the illegitimate child of an English aristocrat. One Anne Russell. That lady gave birth secretly, in 1752, nearly a year after she left England to visit her sister, who'd married into Irish nobility. The family seat of this new alliance was in Galway. Once born, the child was given to servants of the family who both acted as wet-nurse and raised him as their own."

"Oh my word." Cordy gaped. "Angel's baby?"

"Looking at his reaction, I'd say so, wouldn't you? And if I'm not much mistaken," Wesley whispered, "we'd find a similar connection with Eddie Brown. Presumably the news given to each victim by Wolfram & Hart was that Angel was their long-lost relative. They weren't looking for family history at all. They were looking for family."

They glanced over towards Angel. He was making small rocking movements in the chair.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" Kate looked from Cordelia to Wesley and back again.

Wesley shook his head. "I have no idea."

Kate crept over and crouched in front of the swaying Angel. "Hey... how are you doing in there."

For a moment there was no response, then, just as she was about to try again, he started blurting out short, staccato sentences. "Funny thing. Even then I was bad news. Started ruining lives early on. Obviously didn't need to be a vampire."

"Angel... you don't know that. He might have had a very comfortable life. He probably did, growing up in a big house. Compared with most children, he would have been warm and well-fed and..."

With an effort, Angel forced a deliberately coherent sentence out. "What happened to her?"

Wesley looked back at the newsprint. "She... ah, well. It looks as if..." He sighed. "She died in the same year as giving birth."

"See? I killed her. Women died in childbirth then. They died all the time." 

"Or it could be a coincidence." Kate said gently. "People died of lots of things then. Lots of diseases that no-one dies of now. You know that. You were there. Wesley?"

"I'm sorry. The note here says her death was probably caused by puerperal fever. I don't know how they know that. It could be a guess."

Angel grimaced. "Plus ca change... Seems like people are still dying because of me. Just like they always have. Anne, Shawna..."

"No!" Kate gripped him by the arms and shook him. "You don't kill people any more. You didn't kill Shawna. This... isn't your fault."

"I never even got to meet her."

"Angel..." Kate threw Wesley and Cordelia an agonised look, and they came over and gathered around him. After a moment, he started up, eagerly.

"Can I see it? Can I have the file again?"

"Of course... here."

Leaving Angel with the news clippings, the others repaired to the kitchen, under the pretence they were going to make more coffee. Kate shut the door quietly behind them.

"OK. Now what?"

Wesley rubbed his face with both hands wearily. "He doesn't look good."

"Good or not," Cordy said, "If Kate was right, if we've found the link between the victims, Angel must know something that will help us identify the third." 

"Maybe." Kate mused, "But maybe Wolfram & Hart could help us more. They might already know who their third victim will be. There wasn't much of a gap between the first and second murders. Perhaps they're already luring him or her here."

They fell silent for a moment, then Cordy said. "Can I make a suggestion? We actually make some coffee and just ask him? If he's not up to telling us, we can go after the information elsewhere."

Angel was pouring over the news clippings. He looked up when they came in. "It says the family emigrated to Australia from England in the nineteen-fifties. Like, no-one was transported or anything."

Wesley smiled, "Good. That's a load off all our minds."

"Angel?" Cordy began, tentatively, "Do you think, well, perhaps there were others?"

"His name was Will. It's a nice name. Not a family name, but I like it." His finger traced the name on the page, then he frowned. "Others?"

"Other children. Maybe ones you didn't know about. Back when you were human."

"I don't know."

"Well, could there have been? I mean, is it even possible?"

He looked blank.

"I think what Cordelia is trying to get at," Wesley said, "is - did you have that kind of relationship with any other women. At the time."

"Yes."

"Who were they? Can you tell us?"

"I... I..." Angel stammered.

"We're just trying to help Angel," Kate assured him, "If you can remember, it might help us save a life."

He looked hopelessly at them all. "I can't help you."

"Why not?"

"There were lots. Most of them I never saw again."

"Lots?"

"Some of them didn't even have names. I mean, I didn't ask. I don't know how many."

Cordelia gaped. "You slept with women and you didn't even ask their names?"

Angel nodded. "I wouldn't know where to start."


	9. Chapter 9

Descent - 9/16 Descent - 9/16 

The intensity of the silence told her Angel was brooding again. Kate stepped into the living room and found him sitting on the floor, his back against her sofa, staring at the wall.

She suppressed the voice telling her, in the tones of a police academy instructor, to remove sharp objects from the room. But she had volunteered to take care of him, and right now, he needed some distraction.

"Cordelia and Wesley have gone to make an appearance for the detective, tell him how much they wish they could help his inquiries and what law abiding citizens they are. Then they're going to try and figure a way to break into Familiarity and steal some files." 

The barest inclination of his head implied he'd heard. 

"I'm going to meet them there at dusk ..." She looked at her watch. "... in about three hours."

Silence.

"Would you like to tell me about her?"

She crouched next to him and he looked at her briefly, then turned away again.

"I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure it's healthy for me to remember."

She sighed. "You can't bury the memories, Angel. You've had two hundred and fifty years to forget and they're still with you. It might help to share them."

He ignored her point and let his head fall forward onto his knees. His eyes were closed, which gave her an opportunity to study him. Flawless from a distance, his pale skin was equally unmarked close-up. Kate thought about her mother's old maxim, "it's our wrinkles that make us interesting" and wondered what drew her to this man. It must be something internal, since the surface was all perfection. "Or maybe," she mused, "Mom was just talking a load of crap."

An expensive, silver-grey sweater draped his arms and torso like fluid, before rippling in sinusoidal waves at his waist. Matt black trousers made of indeterminate fabric gave way to chunky but stylish black shoes, made to look good but be practical, although she suspected they wouldn't look that good after a few visits to the sewers. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, his legs were bent at the knee and his feet were slightly turned in. He reminded her of damaged children she'd seen as a police officer; still, introverted, quiet; having suffered too much already, they'd given up on their surroundings and on people. 

"Are you looking at me?"

She looked up and found he hadn't moved. 

"How d'you know?"

"Just a feeling."

"You look a little tense."

"You all think I'm going to lose it."

"Are you?"

"I hope not. But you're right. I am a little wound up. I should go kill some vampires."

Kate laughed. "Is that your remedy? Go and kill things?"

He gave her a glance. "You have a better one?"

"You need to relax, not wind yourself up even more."

"Yeah..." His mouth twisted. "I'm not good at relaxing."

"Allow me." She stood and allowed the blood to flow back through her legs again. Then offered him a hand. He regarded it dubiously for a moment before taking hold, and she pulled him up and indicated the couch.

"Face down please."

"What are you going to do?"

"Trust me." She grabbed his arm and pulled him around. "I've worked with plenty of people more uptight than you."

He did as he was told, and a few moments later she knelt by the side of the sofa and put her hands around his neck.

"Whatthe...hey!"

"Please don't try and make out my hands are too cold." She dug her thumbs into the corded muscles of his neck, and kneaded her way across one shoulder, back to the centre and across the other. Then she smoothed her fingers down his spine, digging into the gap between each bone and ignoring his protests. Once she reached his belt she pushed up again, massaging his lateral muscles, each tense mass melting in turn under her hands.

"This can't possibly help you know. My physiology isn't remotely like yours."

She ignored him. "Tell me about her."

He went silent, but his body fought back; as she massaged one spot, a defiant bulge leapt up in another. Finally, she gave up the decorous approach and clambered onto the sofa after him, straddling his hips and attacking on all fronts at once.

He levered himself up a few inches on his hands. "I don't find that relaxing, Kate..."

She pushed him back down and started to use all her weight to knead away at his back. After several minutes he sighed and his upper body seemed to deflate slightly as he yielded to her skill and sank into the sofa cushions. 

"I'd never been with anyone like her before."

At last. She stopped pounding away and allowed her fingers to make small circles in the small of his back. "Was she pretty?"

"She was so beautiful. So perfect. If I ever think of or dream about twenty-first century woman, they're like she was, all those years ago. Scented. Soft. Flawless."

For a moment she closed her eyes and let his voice wash over her. Then she felt him move and when she looked, he had rolled over and lay on his back beneath her. Suddenly their relative positions were altered, from the potentially innocent to the blatantly sexual. He half sat up and she felt a jolt of electricity as his legs brushed against the inside of her thighs. He reached up to her head and ran his fingers through her hair.

"There's so much beauty these days. But it wasn't so commonplace then; there was too much disease and not enough food. But she was stunning by the standards of any age. She had honey-coloured hair and the most wonderful blue eyes. Like yours."

She blushed, in spite of herself. "Thank-you."

"Sometimes you felt you could submerge yourself and float away in the blueness. Sometimes they were like needles of ice, growing into you. When she first looked at me, they were so cold and empty, I was almost frightened. But then we spoke and for some reason I never fathomed, she liked me. And her eyes just... glittered."

"Did you love her?"

"I was dirt on her shoes. That's the truth. And class and money didn't come into it. I was an unprincipled, drunken lout, out for what I could get. She was... an extraordinary human being. Educated, intelligent, spirited..."

"That doesn't exactly answer my question."

"I don't know. She was like a different species. Can you love someone like that? I was in awe."

She reached forward and brushed the skin of his jaw. "My mother always said..."

Angel shivered. Fighting a sudden impulse to warm him with her body, Kate instead climbed down to sit on the floor, taking up the spot he'd vacated. 

"... never mind." She cursed herself inwardly. What was she thinking? Jumping the poor guy's bones was not going to help.

He joined her, and after a moment's consideration, she lifted his arm over her head. He allowed her to manhandle him until she'd tucked him against her hip, and they sat, backs to the sofa, side to side and leg to leg. His arm draped comfortably over her shoulders, his elbow rested on the sofa seat and his hand fell forward onto her chest.

"Comfortable?"

"Yes."

Kate picked a stale donut from the box Wesley had left behind, and tore it in half. She offered one piece to Angel, who shook his head, and she took a large bite, mumbling through the dough, "So go on. I've got you and nothing bad is going to happen. Go ahead and remember."

Across town, Cordelia and Wesley strolled down the steps of station 3/10. Wesley was the first to speak. 

"Shall we walk? It's just a few steps."

Cordy nodded and they set out in the direction of Familiarity. 

"Well, that was quite an experience!" Wesley exclaimed, as soon as they were a decent distance from the station.

"Yeah! Interviewed by Los Angeles' finest in the comfort of a soundproofed cell. Not to be missed."

"They do nice tea. Strong, not too milky."

"The tea was good. And then there's the exquisite comedy of the 'would you like to call a lawyer' moment. Yessir, we would. But sadly, we're unable to find a lawyer that will take us on. Perhaps you could have one flown in from another dimension. Or Canada, whichever is easiest for you."

"I had a chum at Oxford who went into the law."

Cordy raised her eyebrows.

"Specialised in the finer points of English manorial covenants, though. Probably not much use to us."

The stone facade of the office building shared by Familiarity and several other companies came into view.

"So ..." Cordy rummaged in her purse, "... how d'you want to do this?"

"I reckon there's three entrances. This one, the one at the side and there'll be a fire escape around the back. What do you think?" Wesley turned to find Cordy wearing her largest, horn-rimmed, fake spectacles.

"Oh God. What are you now?"

Cordy's face fell. She tapped on her glasses. "I'm a woman with no social life. I'm compiling my family tree during the long winter evenings. Can't you tell?"

Wesley sighed, "Well, I do get confused between some of your more subtle disguises. Something to do with them all involving a large pair of spectacles. Kate said..."

"Never mind what Kate said." Cordy squared her shoulders and looked towards the front entrance. "This is going to work! And if it doesn't, we can come back later, with Kate, and do the breaking and entering thing." She looked back at Wesley. "You should go and check in at the hotel. Gunn'll be waiting."

Wesley spluttered, "I'm not leaving you here!"

"Don't be silly. I'm just going in to case the joint. I'll pick up a leaflet and if anyone's asking too many questions, I'll say I've changed my mind and leave. What could be simpler?"

Wesley could think of a number of things, but by the time he'd formulated a response, she was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Descent - 10/16 

Descent - 10/16 

"And so, after Uncle Albert died, I just came up against a block. You know? He was my source, and my inspiration." Cordelia sighed and took off her glasses to wipe away a tear. "He was a dear man."

"I see." The man from customer services was being very helpful. "Well, if I could just get a few details. Ms...?"

"I can't tell you my name." Cordelia shook her head firmly.

"That's going to make tracing your family a little challenging, Ma'am."

"Not on the first visit. You understand, I have to be assured, before we go any further, that your security procedures are up-to-scratch."

"All our client files are completely confidential."

"Really?" Cordelia smiled. "That's so reassuring. You know, the press are so... so... they're vultures, is what they are."

"The press are involved?"

"They'd like to be. But despite the large inheritance, I'm a very private person, Mr..." she peered at his name badge, "Kolinsky. Very private. Is that Russian?"

"Czech, Ma'am. I have distant relatives there."

Cordy smiled, "That's nice. And you research overseas? You're not restricted to the US?"

The door swung open and a second member of customer service team looked into the office. "Call for you, man, shall I put it through?"

"No, I'll come and take it." Mr Kolinsky stood up. "If you'll excuse me for a moment Ma'am, I think this is probably a private matter."

As soon as he was gone, Cordelia leapt up and opened the door. The corridor was quiet, so she slipped out and walked to the end of it, looking at the name-plates on each door. Finally she found the one she was looking for.

Gerard Philips  
Manager

A large post-it note was affixed above it, with "Lilah Morgan" written in thick blue ink.

Cordy knocked timidly and when no answer came, she turned the handle. The door wasn't locked. On the office desk sat three files. Cordy tsked and shook her head. "So much for client confidentiality."

Across town, Angel watched Kate demolish a whole donut and lick the red filling and crumbs from her fingers. When she'd finished, he drew her a little closer. The air around him was full of the heavy smell of caramelised sweetness and the scent of her hair, and he permitted himself to enjoy it, and remember.

The problem was, he remembered everything too well. It was a curse.

He remembered the first time she sent for him. Racing through the fields, arriving at the appointed place early, windswept, his chest heaving. He expected her to make an entrance as ladies were prone to do, but she didn't, and after strolling around the barn for fully twenty minutes, smoothing his clothes, kicking mud off his boots and trying to straighten his hair without a mirror, there was an explosion of laughter from above him. She'd climbed into the hay loft to watch him make a fool of himself and finally couldn't contain herself any longer.

He was in two minds whether to make a run for it, but she saw how mortified he was, and became instantly sorry. She coaxed him up the ladder after her, whispering tenderness in languages he'd never heard spoken before. She removed her cloak and spread it out over the hay so he wouldn't be prickled, gently pushed him back to sit on it, removed his boots and his coat, and he soon got over his chagrin. 

Once the hard work of smoothing his ruffled feathers was over, she became very still. She invited him with her voice, her eyes, but she made no further move to entice him. It was he who eventually reached across and drew her down beside him on the cloak. 

"I remember everything. Everything we did. Everything I felt. Everything I wanted. Like it was happening here and now."

He bent over her, pausing for a moment to savour the peculiar and changeful blueness of her eyes, azure darkening with want to forget-me-not, before he kissed her. Softly at first, taking the sugar from her lips, then demanding access to her mouth and sweeping aside her murmured rationalisations with his tongue. She was shaking, but his steady hands pulled her close, held her gently, and stroked her fears away. 

Achingly slow, he pressed her down and revelled in the feel of her body cushioning his. Then, wanting to taste the tender skin of her throat, he released her mouth and put a hand down on the carpet to brace himself. That was when she spoke.

"Angel..."

Faint alarm bells went off in Angel's head. Something was very, very wrong with his memory.

Sugar?

Carpet?

And shouldn't his name be Liam? 

He opened his eyes and found himself on top of a slightly breathless Kate.

"Kate... oh God." Angel cursed inwardly. How could he have? Why did she let him? Or had he forced her? He pushed himself away and rolled over onto his back.

"It's OK..."

"I'm sorry. I got a bit..."

"Carried away? Well, at least you're not in awe of me, huh? Because, heaven knows, that would never do."

"It... it won't happen again."

"What if I wanted it to?"

Angel had to think about her words for several moments before their meaning became clear. When light dawned, he still hardly believed it, but then he saw she was blushing furiously and nervously picking imaginary fluff off the carpet. He sighed. "That would be... unbelievable. But..."

"But?" she smiled, but her face became even redder. "Funny how there's always a 'But'. It's OK. I thought... but I got it wrong. It doesn't matter. Friends is good. Friends is probably a better idea."

She started to move away. Angel made the transformation from responsible cursed vampire with a soul in the balance, to inner child about to be denied satisfaction, as suddenly as if a switch had been flicked within him. He caught her arm and brought her back down heavily onto his chest. He kept her there, and they kissed until her heart was pounding so hard, the tremor transmitted through their pressed flesh and shook his own.

"Oh, Katie..." He rested his cool brow against her hot, damp forehead. "Us being friends. I think we missed that boat some while ago. Don't you?" 

"I don't think it was ever scheduled to stop here, that particular boat."

Angel smiled at her underhand acknowledgement of the chemistry between them, and she blushed again and said quietly, "So, what did you mean? What's the 'But'?"

"There's something we need to talk about... to do with me being a vampire, and..."

She groaned and swung a leg over him, rising to straddle his lap. "You know, your physiology doesn't feel all that different to me right now." She grabbed the neck of his expensive sweater and pulled him up to her. He came willingly, wrapping his arms around her waist and bringing her body as close to his as he could manage. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back as he touched his lips to the base of her throat, and then whispered, "Talk details later. Kiss me again."

He was doing just that when Cordelia arrived.


	11. Chapter 11

Descent - 11/16 

Descent - 11/16 

Galway, 1752

Elizabeth heard the knock just as she was about to start plucking. Tucking the limp bird back in her pantry, she wiped her fingers on her apron and hurried to see who was calling. 

It wasn't anyone she'd expected.

"They'll see you."

"You'd better let me in then."

She looked up and down the leafy lane. There seemed to be no-one there, but you could never tell who was watching. Where she was concerned, the gossips were anything but idle. 

"Not a chance."

"You want me to state my business right here, on the doorstep? Lizzie, I've come a long way. Just let me in for a minute, that's all I ask."

Before she could compose an answer, a telltale creaking, grinding sound filled the air.

He smiled triumphantly. "Sounds like a cart coming to me."

Taking the lesser of two evils, she stood back to let him into the hallway and pushed the door closed. A carriage, one she didn't recognise, swooped past the little cottage, setting off an ecstasy of squawking among the fowl.

"Seems like a noisy place to live, here amongst the chickens."

"There's nothing wrong with it." She jumped down his throat, and then stopped, realising that Liam would interpret her eagerness as evidence of unhappiness. And she was happy, very happy. Quite determined to be happy. She made to go past him, but he stood in her way and the passage was too narrow to allow her to go round without squeezing past him, which was, no doubt, his intention.

"Nothing wrong with it? No, I suppose not. If you like being buried alive. I always thought you had a bit more spirit than this, Liz."

Anger flashed up in her breast. "Is that why you've come? To tell me I'm lacking in spirit these days? Well, consider it done, and now I'd be glad if you'd move your useless carcass out of my house and let me get on. I'm busy."

She strode the few steps to where he stood and he smiled and turned sideways to let her pass. Just as she levelled with him he caught her arms and pushed her against the wall. The force knocked a gasp out of her, but she wasn't too winded that she couldn't slap his stupid face for him. While she had a breath in her body, she'd always have enough spirit for that.

Of course, it always hurt her hand more than it hurt his face, but it was a price worth paying.

His cheek flashed white with the force of it, but he scarcely seemed to care, and as the mark left by her fingers blushed steadily redder, he caught her by the waist and the back of her neck and forced his mouth on her, ignoring her struggles and curses, and refusing to let up until she stopped pushing him away, drove her fingers through his hair and met his tongue with her own. It was wrong, but she was only flesh and blood, and since she told her new husband the good news he hadn't touched her, not like this (he never touched her like this) and not in any other way. The poor man didn't think it was right "when she was poorly", and nothing she said would change his mind. She was close to being a bloody nun, and Liam was still Liam when it came to this kind of thing, even if he was useless in every other respect. 

He broke away and put his hand on her black hair, finding the end of the ribbon and pulling it out, as he whispered. "That's my girl. I know what you need. Now, where's the bed in this hovel?"

"Upstairs."

He didn't pick her up and carry her as other men might have, but waited until she took his hand and led him there of her own accord. With Liam, you were always the mistress of your own sin.

Afterwards, she rose and dressed immediately. He tried to keep her down but she shook his hands off. It was hard enough, without engaging in the usual lovey-dovey foolishness. She turned her back towards him, and kept her clothing loose.

"Lizzie, look at me."

"Why? Has there been a great improvement in the last two minutes?"

"You know why."

"No, I don't. And my husband will be home for his supper within the hour, so I'd make your explanation quick if you don't want to meet the rough end of his temper."

She heard him rising and assumed he would dress and go, but instead he came behind her and put his warm hands on the swell of her stomach. 

"I can feel it you know. The child. When we make love I can tell. There's an extra heartbeat."

She grit her teeth. "No there isn't. Don't talk nonsense."

He spoke lowly but clearly into the back of her neck, "Lizzie, come away. You can't do this, not to him, not to me, and surely to God, not to yourself. You don't love him. Didn't... didn't we just prove that?"

Despite herself, she felt tears stinging the back of her eyes. 

"Come away. We'll go some place together. You, me and the little one. I'll find work... or something. I've a premonition about the child, Liz, a feeling that having family is going to be my salvation one day."

Sweet Jesus. How did he always manage to do this? She was actually thinking of saying "Yes", despite everything she knew, and had long known, about him, his way of life, his weaknesses.

But in her heart of hearts, she knew it was no use. He used to be the sun and the moon to her, but now he was not good enough. Not for her and certainly not for her child. Out of the bitterness of that knowledge, the certainty that life with him would be wonderful and squalid, sweet and short, euphoric and damning, was born the biggest lie of her life.

"It's not our child."

"What?"

"I lost it just after the wedding. This is a new baby. His and mine." 

She forced herself not to turn round, knowing her face would give her away. When the door slammed, she straightened the bedclothes and returned to the kitchen, leaving the tears to dry on her face where they lay. All evening, the warm imprint of his hands on her skin remained, and the baby was restless inside her.

Los Angeles, 2001

Cordelia watched Kate and Angel scramble to their feet and tuck in their clothing. After the initial flurry of activity, an awkward silence grew between them.

Angel rubbed his face and looked troubled. Cordelia had a face like thunder. Kate frowned and glanced from Angel to Cordy and back again, waiting for one of them to speak. 

Eventually, she gave up. "Is there something wrong?"

"You left the door open."

"No, I mean, we were going to meet downtown."

Cordy gave Angel one more hard stare and turned to answer Kate. "We don't need to go back. I've found him." She tossed a single a4 sheet onto the dining table with the other papers. It was a typewritten, containing a name and several addresses, and had a small, passport-sized photograph attached.

Angel seized on it.

"His name's Paul Kinsey. He's American."

Kate smiled at Cordy. "Good work, detective."

Cordy was slow to smile back. "Wesley and Gunn are on their way. We thought we could start by visiting those addresses."

"God, most of them are in LA..."

"Angel, perhaps you shouldn't get your hopes up." Kate cautioned. "We don't know that much yet, and..."

Cordy interrupted, "There was a lot of correspondence on the files, but it was all one way. Lots of letters from Familiarity. Nothing from him. I don't think they've found him yet."

Angel's hands shook as he studied the photograph. "He's alive. I know he is."

Kate conceded, "Maybe..."

Suddenly, a loud banging at the door startled them all. Kate waved Angel and Cordelia onto the kitchen and went to look through the peephole. Gunn and Wesley stood in the hall, smiles wide enough to take a hot-dog sideways plastered all over their faces.

"I take it you heard the news then?"

Wesley rushed in, brandishing an envelope.

"About Paul? Yes, but it's so much better than that."

Their happiness was infectious. Kate laughed as Gunn hugged her. "What's happened?"

"After Cordy called we got some post. A letter. Postmarked yesterday. It's from him."


	12. Chapter 12

Descent - 12/16 

Descent - 12/16 

Cordelia paced Kate's kitchen with a face like thunder. As soon as the door closed behind them, she turned on Angel.

"I'm not one to keep my mouth shut ..."

Angel raised his eyebrows. "This I know already."

"... when there's clearly something that needs saying. What were you doing with the detective?"

"That's my business."

"Uh-uh. If it involves nookie it's all our business. Or did you go and forget?"

"That's where you're wrong, Cordelia." Angel folded his arms across his chest. "I still do have a right to some privacy. Now drop it."

"I won't. Does she know?"

"We aren't going to discuss this."

"Oh yes we will. She doesn't, does she? You're unbelievable, you know? I've been chasing round this city trying to help you tidy up the remnants of one life of apparently non-stop debauchery. One would think you'd learnt some kind of lesson."

"You're not being fair. It was a different time."

"You didn't even ask their names, Angel."

"Some of them. He didn't. I'm... not him any more."

"Right. So groping Kate on the living room carpet is evidence of your new-found level-headedness and sense of responsibility, is it?" Cordy dropped her voice to a forceful whisper. "Angel ... the curse ... for God's sake!"

"Don't."

"Don't what? Don't remind you that if you do it with her you'll be slaughtering us tomorrow? Well, excuse me, I kind of think it's important. Listen to me ..."

"No, you listen to me for a change." Angel finally lost his temper, and stabbed his finger at Cordy with every sentence. "I know about the curse. How could I ever forget it when it dictates my relationship every other human being alive? You're worried? I have to live with it every day."

"Then why..."

He took a deep breath and tried to speak calmly. "Perhaps because I'm coming to understand it. Maybe not completely, not yet. But it's getting clearer, in my mind. The boundaries are defining themselves."

"Well, whoopee! What are you going to do, be like a canary in a cage? Shag people until you 'find the boundary' and fall off your perch? Then I guess it'll be down to us to deal with the consequences. Again."

"It isn't to do with sex."

She looked at him, disbelievingly.

"It's not. Sex is immaterial. It's to do with perfect contentment."

"Seems to me that sex has a lot to do with it then, especially for someone like you. Sex without consequences, like in the good old days when you had a different woman in every tavern, huh?"

He ignored her gibe. "You have to trust me."

"Why? Because you're attracted to someone you can't have again? Because you're lonely and needy? Welcome to the world, buddy."

"I know it will be all right."

"Excuse me, but that's pure speculation. You don't know. How can you?"

"Because... because I've been through it. I've lived with it, whether knowingly or unknowingly, for a century or more. I've had my soul ripped out of me for daring to believe I could love Buffy and spend a lifetime with her."

Cordelia grimaced.

"I've had it drugged away and felt it creep back into me, like an unfaithful partner after a night on the town. I've spent..." He paused for the briefest moment and then continued recklessly, "I've spent hours mindlessly fucking because I wanted to lose it and never feel anything ever again."

Cordelia frowned. "When?"

Angel carried on as if he didn't hear her. "I couldn't. I couldn't lose it like that because it isn't to do with sex, it's to do with perfect happiness. A feeling so complete it drives everything else away."

Cordy heard Gunn and Wesley in the corridor, and put her hand on the door to leave. "If I believe you, and I'm not saying I do, I suppose my question is now ..." She paused.

"What?"

"If there's no possibility, however slim, of you feeling that with Kate, why are you getting involved with her?"

Angel thought a moment, and then replied, "I need to be involved. I might not be capable of giving everything, but I need something, Cordy. If you want me to live in the world ... if the Powers want me to be part of people's lives ... I have to really be there. Not just so far and no further. If I cut myself off, things go to hell. Why do you think I came back to you guys when the thing with Darla was over?"

Cordy sighed and rested her head against the door. "I dunno. You're a secret bridge fanatic and you're still hoping we'll make up a foursome one day?"

Angel smiled. "Because the alternative to living like a human being is darkness and despair. I spent almost a century living in it before Buffy came along. She opened the door for me. I don't want to go back there."

"You have to tell Kate. You must warn her."

"I will. I would have anyway. We weren't expecting you. I'm not going to be rushing into anything, I promise."

Cordy gave him a long stare. "Aren't you scared? Of what might happen?"

"Because of Kate?"

Cordelia nodded.

"Actually, I'm more scared of meeting my family. It's been so long since I felt that sort of bond with anyone."

"And what? You think that might set it off?"

"It's a possibility. What if ... they accept me? What if they like me?"

Cordy opened the door, "Take my advice. If you're worried about perfect contentment, just restrict your visits to family gatherings at Thanksgiving and Christmas. There'll be no danger."

The letter Wesley held was a single sheet of pale blue writing paper, laid out formally, with the sender's address on the top, right-hand corner, the date, and a salutation. "Dear Mr Angel...". The script was neat and unadorned, with long uprights and a tendency for characters to peter out rather than finish crisply, as if the writer was in some hurry and couldn't quite spare the time to complete them. Wesley held it out to Angel, who took it and stared blindly at the writing. Suddenly, he rocked back on his heels and put out a hand to steady himself, finding Gunn's shoulder. 

"Could someone..." Angel's voice faltered, and then continued hoarsely, "Gunn? Could you read it for me?"

Angel's eyes were shining and unfocused. He held the letter out in front of him until Gunn took it, and then headed for the living room and stared out at the window, seeing nothing.

Gunn exchanged glances with the others. Following Angel, they ranged themselves on the chairs and sofa while Gunn read out loud.

"Dear Mr Angel...

The letter explained how a local company specialising in reuniting long-lost family members had been trying to get in touch with the sender. They had tried several previous addresses.

"... I am currently undergoing some medical treatment, and as I have no family and am required to be in hospital all the time, I don't keep an apartment any more. Most of my post is routed to a mailbox and letters are sometimes forwarded and take a while to catch up with me ..."

The sender was not aware he had any family. He'd grown up an only child and both his parents were also only children. They were now dead. The letter from Familiarity has been vague about the exact connection.

"... However, I can well believe there may be branches of my family, out there in the world, that I know nothing about. My grandparents were refugees who came to America after the Second World War, and seemed to wish to leave their experiences in Eastern Europe behind them. They never talked much about our family's origins to me, and they died when I was a schoolboy ..."

The letter finished with an invitation to write back and the hope that at some time in the future the sender and addressee could meet and get to know one another.

"Yours sincerely, Paul Kinsey." Gunn folded the letter carefully along its original creases and slid it back into the envelope.

When it was done, Angel turned to face the room and said quietly, "We have to find out where he is. We have to get to him before they do."

Before anyone could answer, Cordelia tipped forward in her seat, and fell, thrashing to the floor.


	13. Chapter 13

Descent - 13/16 Descent - 13/16 

A green floor, corridors that echo and that peculiar institutional brightness. 

Cordelia writhed under the agony. Each new image crashed into her brain like a bullet and persisted, rippling, getting dimmer with each throb, until her real vision tamped it down, making way for the next image to take over.

Medical paraphernalia, including looping IV lines and clear fluid in bags suspended above a bed, catching a ray of sun and splitting the light into a colourful halo.

"It's a hospital. Gah!"

A wheeled table covered in books and writing materials. A sketch pad. No flowers. A small pottery bowl of apples.

"Cordy, can you see? Can you see him?"

"Which hospital?"

"I can't ... oh God ... I can't see."

Pinkish, crisply laundered sheets, covering a still form, except for a face poking out at the top. 

"OK! OK! I see a face. No more please ... NO!"

The face is in the shade. It is riven with fear. Eyes open, staring but not seeing, cheeks that twitch as the patient shakes, a jaw clenched tight, deforming the mouth and a brow covered in beads of perspiration.

"I don't know who it is. I don't recognise him. He's ill, not seriously, it feels like a mild fever. But he's very frightened. My God, he's absolutely terrified of it."

"Ill? It's Paul. He said he was receiving medical treatment. We have to find him. We have to find him right now."

A shaft of light breaks over the face - someone has drawn a curtain in the room - and it freezes in panic for a second. Then, caught in the sun's glare, the face relaxes for the briefest moment, and takes on its normal shape. Then the effect wears off and the visage crumples as the shaking returns.

"Oh... oh my God."

Cordy opened her eyes. Four concerned faces formed a semicircle in her visual field. 

"Did you ..." Angel looked apologetic and Cordy shut her eyes to block him out. "I mean, was there a hospital name, or a location of any kind."

"No."

"Nothing that will help us find Paul?"

"It wasn't Paul." Cordy picked herself off the floor and felt her arms grabbed by several hands. "It was you."

There was a stunned silence. "Cordelia," Wesley's voice cut in, "Are you sure you weren't just seeing some sort of family resemblance?" 

"Quite sure."

"This is... unprecedented. A vision about Angel? But he's right here. Nothing bad is happening to him."

The hands eased her back onto a chair and put a glass of water into her fingers. "Yeah, I can see that. Or I would see it if I could bare to open my eyes. Could we ... ?"

Kate indicated to Gunn and he lowered the lights.

Wesley continued. "The Powers have never, to my knowledge, sent us a vision like this before. It must relate to the future - to a time after Angel's shanshu. He's sick because he's human."

"Sunlight." Cordy mumbled, and she told them what she'd seen.

"Well, that just confirms it."

"Cordy, wasn't there anything about him? We ... we ..."

"I know. We have to find him." Cordy sipped her water and took some painkillers from her bag. "I suppose we'd better get started. Gunn? Kate? Are you up for some phoning around and mild impersonation?"

The both nodded and Cordelia hauled herself up. "Then let's get back to the office. I research better at my own desk. Wesley, you can stay - you're no good at lying and someone needs to be with him."

Angel had meandered off again and was staring out into the night as if he might be able to spot his missing family in the street below. After the others were gone, Wesley left him alone for a while, and took out his prophecy notebook.

"How's your family, Wes?"

Lost in translation of tricky phrase, the question startled him, and without thinking he gave an accurate answer, "I try not think about them much."

"You don't get along?"

Wesley looked up from his reading and gave a wry smile. "My father hasn't had a kind word to say to me since I spilt dandelion-and-burdock over the manuscript of his first major research work. That was twenty-five years ago."

"What did he research?"

"The significance of blood to vampires."

Angel laughed.

"It's more interesting than you'd imagine. There isn't really a good explanation of why vampires drink. Traditionally, of course, it's thought to be nourishment for the demon that inhabits the host's form. The host is dead and doesn't need feeding, ergo ..."

"Traditionally? You mean, there's more than one point of view?"

"Put any two Council members together and you'll create a difference of opinion. I don't care if they're talking about vampires or who's going to win the FA Cup. Yes - certainly there were and are dissenting points of view. None of them have gained much ground as far as the Council's teaching is concerned, though, except ..." Wesley's voice petered out, and he regarded Angel curiously.

"What?"

"Except once. In the early sixteenth century. A watcher called Christophe was relieved of his charge, expelled and eventually hanged for circulating a pamphlet which proposed excessively heretical views. I wish I had access to the Watcher's diaries, I could read you what he wrote."

"They didn't censor him?"

"Oh no!" Wesley was shocked. "They may be a reactionary bunch but they would never stoop to destroying the written word. Even a dissenting view is knowledge - to be added to the sum. It's one of their central tenants. Now, from memory, Christophe proposed an alternative, highly original theory of the significance of blood. Speculating that the purpose of vampiric feeding was twofold, he divided blood into the substance and the essence. I suppose in the post-Einstein world that would be matter and energy, and we'd agree they were the same thing, but in any case, this was pre-Newton so such a thought wouldn't have occurred to anyone. Most of them were still convinced the sun was circling the earth."

"And the substance and essence had a separate purpose?"

"Indeed. The essence was akin to the soul of the person, and that fed the demon. Of course the Church was immediately up in arms because traditionally the soul of the departed goes to heaven. They couldn't countenance any other view and when Christophe repeated his theory once too often they arranged for his execution."

"What about the substance?"

"That fed the body. According to his theory, the body didn't die. It merely went into a sort of arrested state. The matter in the blood fed the body, much as an intravenous drip feeds a patient in a coma. Of course, that also set the cat well and truly amongst the pigeons."

"Why?"

"Because if the body isn't dead, it could be argued the Slayer commits murder every time she kills a vampire. There was a lot of argument about why a vampire disintegrates into ashes after a staking, but Christophe argued that that couldn't be a natural occurrence - why would a body that may have been healthy a few hours ago disintegrate? - and if it couldn't be explained as natural decay it was therefore no evidence against his point of view."

"He was a clever man."

"Oh yes, if contemporary reports are anything to go by. The secret of returning a soul from wherever it went was well known, although it was forbidden to actually perform the ritual and no-one in the Council had tried it for centuries. Well, the church stated that the soul was in heaven or hell and anyone who tried to restore it was working against God's will. But Christophe's argument was that the soul was imprisoned by the demon and the ritual merely released it from captivity. Anyway, Christophe argued that if you have a live body and you have a restoration spell, all you have to do is fold tab A into slot B and you should get back the human being you lost. Er... those may not have been his exact words, you know, but that was the gist. He was a talented watcher and the Council took him very seriously. They even stopped sending out patrols for while, just in case he turned out to be right. Except ..."

"Except?"

"It doesn't work. You are an example of what one gets when a restoration spell is performed. A vampire with a restored soul. And why?"

"Because of the demon."

"Precisely. The demon won't go away, and your body is still in the same arrested state as it was a hundred years ago when you and your soul were reunited. Tests were done - even dangerous heretics had their ideas tested - and they produced a few besouled vampires who rapidly went crazy and were no use to anyone. Sorry, Angel."

"That's OK. I know how they felt. So, he was just wrong, this Christophe?"

"When the tests failed everyone consigned his ideas to the scrap-heap. Of course, by this time he was six feet under and had no chance to modify his theory to fit the results, and everyone else was much too scared of ending up in the same place to take up his work."

"You don't think he was wrong?"

"I don't think until now I'd given the matter much thought. It's an interesting theory and my father knew all about it - that's all. Pure-blood demons are more my thing, really. But I've been trying to make sense of the prophecy - especially the shanshu bit - 'life regained'. If shanshu is to happen, there has to be a mechanism. Life must be restored. According to the traditional teachings of the Council, that's impossible without intervention from higher powers."

"But not according the Christophe?"

"If Christophe was right, life never went away. That makes it much easier, in fact, it ought to be like shelling peas. Take one arrested body, locate appropriate soul, get rid of demon, jump start if necessary. Presto, a human being, fit as the day he was turned."

"Missing from our shanshu puzzle is a bit of demon expulsion?"

"I suppose. Mind you, this is all pure speculation on my part."

Angel smiled. "It passes the time. So we need a purgative. I wonder if the drug store is still open?"

"It could turn out to be very important, Angel. The prophecy could be the reason why these people are being killed."

"I know. I'm only ... laughing to keep from crying."

The mobile phone trilled. Angel flipped it open and opened his mouth to speak, and then went quiet and simply listened. Eventually, Wesley prized the phone away.

"Cordelia? He's gone a bit funny again. Did you find him? Oh, fantastic. Good work."

He picked up Angel's coat and shook it out in front of him. Angel failed to move, so Wesley fed one arm into the appropriate sleeve, walking around his back to find the other. The coat on, he took Angel's hand and led him out of the door. "C'mon, old friend. Let's go and meet the family."


	14. Chapter 14

Descent - 14/16 Descent - 14/16 

The Tower of London, 1503

Rain in the courtyard. Initially a mist percolated through the grille that covered the prisoner's pit, then a smatter. Then, as water collected amongst the flagstones, it poured in rivulets onto the filthy stone floor below. 

The prisoner woke as the first droplets landed on his skin, and found himself wet through. More water arrived in a gush and a stream arched across his cell. The prisoner positioned his open mouth under the cascade, drinking and washing the gaol-dirt from his face. When it stopped, he moved the rough wooden chair away from the biggest puddles, and sat in the brightest part of the cell, with the bars above his head, waiting for the sun to poke through and warm his frigid flesh.

Eventually a few rays did break through the clouds and reach him, but not with sufficient strength to stop the shivering. Then a shadow passed over the sun. He looked up, expecting to see a guard standing close to the edge of his pit. Instead, he saw a sheet of parchment lying over the bars. It was fine parchment, less than opaque, and the light that came through it lent a light, golden colour, like butter. The prisoner's mouth watered.

A breeze lifted the parchment very slightly, not enough to chase it away, but just to raise one end above the other. The grille was made of ten horizontal bars, like a warp with no weft, and as the parchment moved, it presented an edge to the gap between two bars and became thin enough to slip through.

The prisoner caught the parchment as it floated down to the floor of the cell, and flattened it out on the straw-filled mattress that was his bed. It was damp, but it would dry, he knew, perfectly well, if only he could keep it flat. Sadly, it was unmarked, completely devoid of writing. It would have been nice to read something, but even a blank scroll was better than having nothing to look at except gaol walls and air.

The prisoner was distracted from his prize by a loud squawking and rustling sound, and the spectacle of two rooks fighting in the air above him. They were on the wing, and rapidly moved out of the small patch of sky he called his own, but they left a speck of black behind. This speck danced about, wafted back and forth by the breeze, but always remained within his sight. After a while, a tail feather, black as soot and nearly six inches long, landed in his hands.

The prisoner smiled. "Never was there a clearer sign from God."

Los Angeles, 2001

Wesley rushed into the room, clutching a handful of curling, flimsy paper. "Angel? Look at this."

"What is it?"

Wesley shut the door behind him and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. The hospital had given them a room to sit in, while they waited for the administrator and the doctors decide whether they could see the patient. Kate was asleep in an armchair, and Cordelia and Gunn were playing a ruthless game of pontoon. 

"Christophe was not permitted writing materials during his incarceration, presumably because they were afraid he would have used them to spread his repugnant ideas. However, he did manage to write. Perhaps his family bribed the guards. Anyway, the story goes that he pressed a parchment, written in blood, into the hands of a Council member who visited him to say goodbye, on the morning of his execution."

"And this is what he wrote?"

"Yes. Of course, being the Council, they kept it in their library, despite the author being a denounced heretic. I imagine they didn't know what else to do. Anyway, I managed to get Giles on the blower just now and he knew of a transcript. There's a fax in reception and he sent it straight over. Let me read you some bits."

Wesley read from the first sheet: "I, Christophe, wretched prisoner in the Bloody Tower, do affirm this is my last will and testament to the world. I have ever tried to perform my duty as Watcher to the utmost and it is my eagerness to know more of the vampyr and his nature that has brought me to this sorry state. God is my witness ..."

"He goes on like that for several pages." Wesley leafed through the papers. "But he never pleads for his life, poor man. Perhaps he knew it was hopeless. Then, he starts arguing that his theories were right all along, which, of course, was the one thing likely to get his head put on the wrong end of a spike without any delay."

"Does he say anything new?"

"That's what I was coming to. He seems to have concentrated on the issue of vampires disintegrating after they are staked, since that was the main argument advanced against his theories before his death."

Wesley read on. "Many learned men of the Council have said that the body cannot live on after vampirism is introduced, since as soon as that evil is purged, whether by a stake through the heart or decapitation or any of the diverse methods employed by the Slayer, it becometh as ash after a fire is burnt out. This, they say is evidence of the death of the body. But may there not be another explanation? The demon lives in the liquid parts of the body, this we know from seeing our people drink the evil one's blood and become quickly possessed. When the Slayer does her work, might the demon not depart and take the host liquid with it, thereby desiccating the body and causing it to crumble?"

Wesley paused and Angel interjected, "Do you believe that's possible, Wes?"

"Let me finish, OK? There's not much more." Wesley turned the page again. "Therefore, if we could but perfect the art of providing liquid to the body as the demon departs, as well as restoring the soul as we can so readily perform, may we not save those beings now eternally condemned? My dear friends, if we once again reunite the essence and the matter of the blood, why should it not be whole again, and if the blood is wholesome, why should not the body live?"

"Oh!"

Everyone looked at Kate, who had woken up suddenly. Wesley grimaced at her and nodded, "You see?"

"Yes, I think I do."

Gunn tutted, "I wish one of you would explain it then, cos I think the rest of us are still a little short of a twenty-one here."

"The prophecy," Kate said hurriedly. "It ... it ... sort of makes more sense now. 'from the threesome he must take / that which he cannot return' and ... and ... 'blood will out but will not sate' ..."

"What Kate's trying to say," Wesley interrupted, "is that if you interpret the prophecy in the light of Christophe's theories, it's quite clear why meeting your relatives is necessary for shanshu to occur."

Angel shook his head dumbly. 

Wesley put it more bluntly. "We have a soul. We have a body kept in an arrested state by a demon. We expel the demon by whichever method we like. The demon departs taking the blood it possesses with it and we replace that blood with ..."

"No!" Angel whirled away and thumped the wall behind him with the flat of his hand. "I don't want to hear any more."

Wesley carried on regardless, "Their blood prevents you from dying when the demon withdraws. I'm not sure why family blood is necessary, but the prophecy indicates that's so. It's not clear either why these three people are significant, and why their parents aren't, for example. I suspect that will be to do with youth, the blood would have to be young and resilient to withstand decanting from one body to another. Another problem is rejection, but perhaps your residual vampire resistance to disease and trauma would account for that not happening. I haven't really got it all sussed yet."

Wesley looked up to find Angel regarding him in horror. "I'm ... I'm sorry Angel."

Angel glanced wildly from Cordelia to Wesley and back again. "How can you talk like this? Do you have to poison everything for me? He's my family. Why can't you just leave me be?"

"I thought you had a right to know."

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the hospital administrator. "Mr Angel?"

Angel wiped his face and turned to face her. "Yes."

"Mr Kinsey has indicated he knows you and would like to see you." She raised a hand as Angel stepped forward. "He confirms you are a long-lost relative, and have recently re-established contact. I'm sorry Sir, you'll appreciate we had to check, in fairness to our patient."

"Of course. Don't worry about it. Can I .."

"Just a moment, Sir." The administrator indicated a chair. "If I could detain you for just a few seconds." Angel sat and she continued, "Mr Kinsey said you were not aware of the nature or extent of his illness, and he would like you to be prepared before you see him. I'm afraid he has a rare and fatal bone disease."

Angel frowned. "A bone disease?"

"Yes, Sir. It was picked up in a routine check-up just a few weeks ago. His bone tissue is, in essence, atrophying inside him. His vital organs, muscles and blood seem not to be affected, but of course if the wasting continues, eventually his skeleton won't be able to support him. The disease has advanced rapidly and Mr Kinsey is in some pain. You will notice he finds movement difficult, and in fact it's quite dangerous for him to put any stress on his bones at all."

"Is it curable?" Angel asked.

"You'll have to speak to the doctors about that."

The administrator paused, and Wesley's quiet voice inquired "How rare?"

"The doctor will talk to Mr Angel about it. You'll appreciate I'm not qualified to say much more."

"Are there any other known cases?"

She sighed, "You didn't get this from me. There are no other known cases currently. There have never been any cases reported."

"So, to put it in layman's terms?"

"No-one has ever seen this disease before."


	15. Chapter 15

Descent - 15/16 Descent - 15/16 

The administrator continued. "Mr Angel, if I could just ask you to remain here for a minute. I'll tell Mr Kinsey you're coming, and then I'll come back for you."

She left, and Angel rounded on Wesley. "Don't. Just don't, all right? I don't want any more interference."

Wesley refused to back away, and Cordelia and Gunn each took one of Angel's arms and held him back.

"Come on, you guys." Kate sprang from her seat to stand in the middle of them all. "You don't really want to fight. Wesley?"

"Certainly not."

"Angel?"

Angel shook his head. "No. I wasn't going to ... Wes, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"It's OK." Wesley held out his hand and when Angel took it, threw his other arm around Angel's neck to give him an awkward hug. "I just think we should discuss it. Like rational people."

Angel laughed. "This isn't something the team needs to work out together, Wes. I can't do it, and no-one wants me to - it's just not going to happen. There's no point in discussing it any further."

Kate held up her hands again. "Can I ask for a recap? Because, I didn't really ever get a good handle on the shanshu thing."

"In a nutshell," Wesley explained, "the prophecy describes how Angel can become human again. It involves driving his demon out, which could be done by any of the methods normally used to kill a vampire, and drinking blood from Paul at the same time."

"How much?" Kate asked.

Angel shot her a look. 

"Well?" Kate said defensively, "I just think if we are going to discuss it we should know what it is we're talking about. Are we just talking ... a mouthful or two like you took from me? Because ... that doesn't seem like a big thing to ask."

Wesley shook his head. "According to the theory, when the demon leaves, it's going to take all Angel's blood away. He has to drink enough to replace that blood, and he has to do it faster than he ... a vampire, disintegrates. I would imagine there won't be time to measure or think about stopping. It'll be ... final."

Kate was curious. "Can you drink that quick?"

Angel refused to answer. 

"Angel," Wesley sighed, "you have to at least consider it. I don't believe we can all be here right now by accident. Events are being influenced. Paul wasn't lured here by Wolfram & Hart. He lived here already. Then you came along, you met Kate without whom you would never have noticed the murders. I recalled my father's research. Paul has a handy disease that kept him out of Lilah Morgan's way and will eventually kill him but doesn't affect his blood. It's too much coincidence. Maybe this is fate."

"Fate?"

"I don't like it any more than you do, but ... it seems this man will die a painful and wretched death. If they've never seen this disease before, he isn't going to be curable." Wesley shrugged. "What if this shanshu as the Powers intended, and what we're seeing is not coincidence but them doing everything they can to bring it about?"

"The Powers wouldn't ..."

"No?" Cordelia interrupted. "Are you sure? They happily watched Doyle die and wouldn't lift a finger to bring him back. They seem content enough for me to suffer intense pain, in the interests of you making amends. Seems to me they aren't interested in what's just, only in what's possible under the rules." She sighed. "It pains me to say it but, Wesley might be right. Maybe they do mean it to happen this way. Perhaps this is the only way it can happen without their direct intervention."

"Cordy, you can't possibly want me to ... do this."

"I don't know. He's in pain. He's going to die. And," Cordy glanced and Kate, and gulped. "if this shuts the door forever on the possibility of Angelus coming back ... maybe it's the lesser of two evils."

"Angelus is coming back?" Kate looked confused.

Cordy took Angel's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry, Angel. I'm just so scared. I lived through it once. Even if there's the smallest chance it could happen again ... I don't know if I can deal."

"Gunn?"

Gunn's eyes opened wide as Angel stared at him. "I don't know, man. You know ... I'd do anything to have Alonna back as she was. If it was my blood that could do it, and she was here to ask me, I'd like to think it wouldn't be hard."

Angel shuffled to the door. "I'm going to wait outside."

Wesley met him there and placed a hand on his shoulder. The men's eyes met briefly, and Wesley slipped a small glass phial, filled with a clear liquid, into the vampire's pocket. He patted Angel's arm and said softly, "I got it from the hospital chapel. It's your choice. You have enough friends here to know ... we'll try to understand whatever you do."


	16. Chapter 16 - Final

Descent - 16/16 Descent - 16/16 

Time dragged by in the stuffy room. Initially, those remaining found it hard to speak about what might be happening elsewhere in the building.

Kate spoke first, asking Wesley, "What was that?" and when he answered quietly "Holy water" - she was silenced. Cordelia couldn't look Kate in the eye, and Gunn seemed lost in recollections of his own.

After an hour, Cordy took a tissue out of her bag and started to dab her eyes. Wesley put an arm around her shoulder and she broke into bitter tears. 

"I can't believe I said that to him."

"It can't be helped."

"I shouldn't have said anything."

"You only told him how you felt. If you're frightened, he should know. I'm just afraid he'll blame me."

"For what?" Gunn asked.

"For poisoning his relationship with his family. If he doesn't ... Paul can't have long left. Shawna and Eddie are gone, and we don't know anything about the rest of their families."

"Shawna was adopted. Her parents died when she was a baby." Kate said quietly. The others turned towards her. "It was in the police records. She was brought up by adoptive parents."

"You see?" Wesley said, sadly. "Paul has no living relatives. We don't know what Eddie's situation was, but Angel's opportunities for finding a family seem be to closing down. This could be the only chance he gets. I hope I haven't ruined it for him."

Gunn sighed, "I don't think any of us were every helpful. Kate - I didn't mean you. But us three - we're supposed to be Angel's family. I think we were all ... a bit tied up with our own perspective on this. Just because I feel guilty about losing Alonna, doesn't mean it's relevant to what Angel feels about his family or the way they might feel about him. Everyone doesn't have to feel the same way about stuff. I shouldn't have said what I said."

Wesley nodded, and took his glasses off to polish them. "If I could have kept my mouth shut about the research. Because not everything is about what's possible. I should have respected the way he saw the matter."

"Not everything is about being safe from the monsters." Cordy added. "I mean, in the end, knowing what Angel constantly fights against is what makes me admire him."

"What are we going to do?" Wesley replaced his glasses. "What are we going to say? When he comes back?"

The door opened, and swung back against the floor-mounted stop with a gentle thud. Angel stood in the doorway, staring at the ground. All eyes in the room were upon him.

As the Angel Investigations team remained rooted to their seats, Kate walked up to him and slipped her arms around his waist, trying not to notice if he was warm or cold.

Epilogue

Kate heaped noodles into two blue and white bowls laid out on a lacquered tray. She didn't hear the door to the kitchen open or steps across the room, and the first she knew of Angel's arrival there was his arms slipping round her waist from behind.

"I'm so glad I moved back here," she murmured, as his lips traced a line up her neck to her ear.

He paused. "Why?"

"Couldn't have done this in the kitchen of the other place. Not without the whole of LA seeing."

Angel chuckled and took the serving spoons out of her hands, dumped them in the saucepan and turned her round so that he could kiss her properly. He pressed her into the door of one of the kitchen cupboards with his body, and cradled her head in his hands as his tongue sought out hers.

"Katie ... how have we waited a whole month?"

"You said you wanted to go slow. You said ..."

"Yes, I know I said that." He heaved a shaky sigh. "But then I never saw you in this dress before. This dress isn't fair."

He pulled away and looked ravenously at her body, clad in a silk wrap-over that dived into a sharp V on top and also exposed a decent length of pale thigh skin when she walked. The silk was just a shade darker than her eyes at their darkest hue, and it rustled very slightly as she moved. Angel stroked the skin in the centre of the V and brushed his fingers against the side of her breast.

"The dress isn't fair," he repeated.

Kate smiled at him and said quietly, "Do you want to stay over?"

He looked into her eyes, nervously.

She continued. "We don't have to ... you know. We could just spend the night together. If nothing happens, then that's fine. We can watch movies."

"What would you like me to do?"

Kate picked up the tray and left the kitchen, saying, over her shoulder. "I'd like you to join me at the dining table."

"Well, doesn't that look good!"

The man already sitting at the table looked absurdly like Angel. He was thinner, slightly haggard from his illness, and that made him look a year or so older, but in every other respect they were remarkably similar.

Or so Kate thought, every time she met Paul. But then when Angel walked into the room and her heart gave the usual pleasant lurch, she would decide again that there really was no comparison.

"You did say you liked Chinese?"

"I certainly do. Is this your father's famous recipe?"

Kate nodded, and set the bowls on the table. Then Angel wandered in with a glass of blood.

"My God! Is he still on that stupid liquid diet?"

Kate nodded. "He says he needs to lose weight."

Paul shook his head. "All the more for us, then." He picked up his champagne flute and clinked with both his companions. "Anyway, here's to you, Angel - not only for having a great cook for a girlfriend, but also for having a girlfriend who sublets me an apartment with the most fabulous view of LA, and last but not least, for my miraculous recovery. I tell you, if you hadn't come along and volunteered, I don't think they would have found a match."

"The doctors have given you the all clear?"

"Yes. And they say there must be something magical in your bone marrow. You remember, they weren't happy about you having the extraction done outside the hospital?"

Angel and Kate both looked nervously in the direction of the kitchen.

"Well, you should have seen the disclaimer they made me sign. Now they've completely changed their minds and say they've never seen anyone heal so quick."

"No side effects? Rejection pains? Sickness? Unusually strong thirst?"

Paul shook his head. "None at all. I still can't quite believe you turning up when you did. We should drink to ... fate."

Angel smiled and shook his head. "I don't really believe in fate. Let's just drink to family."


End file.
